A Festival of Terror
by Petite09
Summary: Angelina Ramsey has survived the terrors of Halloween night and her tragic romance with the silent murder, Michael Myers, but as she tries to regain her childhood, the rest of Haddonfield, Illinois is reeling. Secrets that were long since buried are uncovered, her dear friend Laurie is rebelling, and their once sleepy town is being engulfed in fanaticism and controversy.
1. Chapter 1

***Down the dark, dank corridor where the floor was obscured by a thick layer of fog that chilled both body and soul, with only a faint flicker of a faraway wall sconce to provide any sort of illumination, the silhouette of an oblong shape sits at the end. A menacing sound that echoes in the yawning silence pierces the ear drums, reverberating through your very core and causes ice to fill your veins. For you know what is happening, through narrowed eyes you can see that this shape is that of an ancient and worn coffin, left abandoned and forgotten. The lid had been nailed into place to prevent any from disturbing anyone who may lie within, but the nails were bent back, the wooden lid has splintered and the fog has begun to seep inside as a foul odor emerges. Thin, pale fingers curl out from the space, curling over the petrified edge of the coffin and an unseen hand begins to slide the lid further away.**

** Though every fiber in your being is demanding that you not step forward, some invisible force has overwhelmed your natural instincts and soon you find yourself standing at the side of the coffin, looking down with widened eyes. You expect to find some hideous thing, some decayed and oozing shell of a person that once breathed honest air. However to your sheer bewilderment, you discover a small young woman listening to her iPod and typing the next installment to her first fanfiction story…**

** I know I should have posted a sequel to 'Under the Harvest Moon' a long time ago but it seemed that no matter how much I wanted to figure out a way to return, the story line would not congeal into a cohesive story. Now after much change in my personal and professional life, I have decided to just try to come out of the slumber of writers' block and attempt to return to Haddonfield. Just like you, I want to know how Angie has recovered from her ordeal, to find out if she could handle life as a normal teenager now that she had loved a homicidal former catatonic. Will Dr. Loomis be a sympathetic ear or become something completely different? Can Laurie and Haddonfield ever be able to cope with knowing that Michael Myers had returned to their lives, destroying the lovely façade they had thought was eternal? I'm not sure about you but I need to know these answers and I need to know what happened that first Halloween night that started this whole thing. I want this story to move at a slower pace so please bear with me…yours, Petite!***

Anyone who had the fortune to pass by the café would have inhaled the sweet and bitter aromas wafting through the air, mingling with the smells of Illinois in autumn. Fresh coffee beans combined with mocha and vanilla flavorings would entice anyone, but the crisp air promised a seasonal variety, including all things pumpkin spice. The two women laughed delicately together as they exited the shop and chose a sunny spot on the café's patio. Because it was a nice weekday the majority of the town's residents were at work, leaving retirees and housewives and others enjoying life outside of an office to mill about without concern for crowds.

A lazy police cruiser, and it did just that, it cruised pass the café and the driver; a young deputy slowed to an easy stop and awaited a colleague who had ventured inside to purchase two cups of strong black coffee. In a town like Haddonfield where most people still maintained the post WWII idyllic community lifestyle, it was normal to see the members of the local police force chasing doughnuts with coffee rather than chasing criminals. Once the deputy's partner emerged triumphant in retrieving 'the goods', the cruiser would roll on at a languid pace. Then the women would be able to observe their children in animated play in the park across the street. Vaguely they were aware they lived in a bubble; even if the police were not present, they would not stress themselves to actively watch their children closely.

Pedophiles, perverts, rapists, and other riffraff did not exist in Haddonfield, Illinois. Those types infested big cities and one could believe that the box hedges that lined most of the community, that were meticulously maintained by the Haddonfield Arbor Society, prevented any serious criminal element from penetrating their mid-western sanctuary.

For that reason Taylor Ramsey uprooted her young daughter, Christie and fled Chicago and relocated to the undisturbed tranquility that was cultivated almost fifty miles away. Before sipping the steaming brew from her cup made of recycled materials, Taylor inhaled the rich scent and sighed deeply. The bustling streets filled with the traffic of a mobile multitude one could not enjoy this sort of quiet. A series of events she seldom cared to recall had pressed her to flee the city as if it were on fire-again.

Mugged for her purse, her daughter bullied in an overcrowded school, and a dead-beat boyfriend who refused to act honorably or responsibly. Christie was four and Ron had failed to not only marry the long-suffering mother if his child but could not hold down a job. Ron had no ambition to provide for a darling little girl with golden pigtails and big brown eyes. In ways Taylor sometimes was thankful to the mugger for perhaps knocking some sense into her. She had lain in a hospital bed, no friends or family and definitely no boyfriend to comfort her. An elderly neighbor had offered to watch Christie, giving Taylor time to assess her life. She realized that she was not even thirty, yet she felt haggard and feared for her child. She could no longer hitch her wagon to a lame horse and expect a happy ending.

Now nearly seven years after she left Chicago she was proud of herself for making the decision to take control of her life and come to Haddonfield.

Over the rim of her coffee container she watched Christie on the hopscotch across the street, laughing gaily as her friend rushed around to start the game again. The park looked like a picture from a _Hallmark _card with orange, yell and red leaves falling from the trees. Dressed in her _My Little Pony_ themed jacket and a pair of fashionably faded denim jeans, Christie giggled and leapt, hopped and squealed. Behind her was a child with long blonde hair, far too long for a ten year old boy.

"He rarely lets us cut it," Edith, the boy's mother would say, "he turns into a banshee. He wrestles and howls so we've agreed to cut his hair twice a year-for the first day of school and for yearbook pictures."

Edith had somehow avoided her usual addition of calorie-laden whipped cream. The Halloween season was upon them and usually the cooling weather would cause people to bundle up and not worry about the pounds. However Halloween night the adults all gathered for a big gala at the hotel across from City Hall, thrown each year by the mayor. Held in a large ballroom, the party boasted a buffet, a bar, and a dance floor. A live band played music to accompany drinks and dinner and a disc-jockey was hired to provide tunes for the dancing afterwards. Edith, Taylor, and their husbands were on the guest list and the former would not let a dollop of whipped cream from zipping up her new red dress. But if she was going to dress two children for trick-or-treating and her husband for the gala then she would need lots of caffeine.

"Has Christie decided what her costume will be this year?" Edith inquired, frowning at the little porcelain box holding the artificial sweeteners.

"Oh, you know her, never a princess or a bride, always something boyish. Last year she was a ninja and this time it's a pirate. I finished her outfit just this morning." Taylor answered, pleased with herself.

Edith rolled her eyes and laughed, explaining that she failed in all her attempts to sew anyone anything. Furthermore she was far too busy to learn no matter how often old Mrs. Blankenship from next door offered lessons. Plus her husband, John, made enough as a civil engineer that purchasing clothes and other material things was not a problem. Outwardly she had the perfect marriage and three healthy children. Nearly two years ago little Laurie was added to the Myers clan and she could not decide what made her happier-the sound of her toddler's giggles or the fact that she had quickly regained her figure.

Her eldest daughter was essentially the perfect child and the town's darling. Judith was voted most popular each year since enrolling at Haddonfield Senior High and it was obvious she, now a junior, would be a shoe-in for the queen of the Autumn Ball, the town's equivalent to homecoming. Long chestnut wavy hair, perfect skin and hazel eyes, Judith was a tall and lovely girl who worked hard to achieve decent grades and never caused her parents trouble. A smile touched Edith's thin glossed lips as she remembered that her daughter had agreed to forego the traditional football game before the ball to babysit her younger siblings and Taylor's two girls as well. While the adults enjoyed their party, Judith would see the children safely around the neighborhood to retrieve their free candy and tucked into bed before ten o'clock. In exchange John had financed a beautiful dress made of a deep orange satin with thin straps that crisscrossed the back. John had disapproved of the v-neckline but he could not deny his precious firstborn anything.

"Ken and I must do something to thank Judith for looking after our little pirate and honey bee." Taylor said, still admiring the ease with which their children played.

"Oh, no worries! Judith adores Christie and Angie." Edith exclaimed before darkly adding. "It's _Michael _who is the troublemaker."

Edith's blue eyes rolled again and their attention turned fully to the four children thoroughly enjoying themselves. Due to the excellent weather and the two eldest were pulled from school early for two unrelated doctors' appointments and neither of the children had complained at this development. Now they had abandoned the hopscotch and had placed the two toddlers in a red wagon and seized the front handle and had begun to pull the small vehicle around the circular concrete pathway in the middle of the green. Both toddlers, born a few months apart, threw up their chubby little arms and waved them madly in delight.

Laurie had short blonde hair and her mother's deep blue eyes and was dressed warmly in a purple velvet dress and matching cotton tights. Angelina, more affectionately called Angie, was Taylor's youngest and was the exact opposite of her friend and sister. Though Taylor preferred to style their hair in pigtails, Angie's hair was dark, nearly black and her eyes were a chocolate brown. After relocating to Haddonfield Taylor had married a local accountant and most assumed that Angie's dark features were Ken's. Christie had thankfully shown no opposition to the match and Ken doted on the ten year old as if she was his own. Once Angie was born, Christie adapted and embraced her role as an older sister. Indeed even from across the street the mothers could see her exuberance.

That attractive personality seemed to be the only conduit that influenced Michael.

Though extremely bright and well-mannered, Michael was excessively reserved. At times his shyness was mistaken for disinterest or insolence and only Christie seemed to understand him. They had been friends and in the same classes since preschool and it was Christie, having been a victim of bullying, who defended her friend whenever others bullied him. She saw no reason to be rude to a boy for being different, for wearing his hair longer than others or having a fascination with animals. She admired his intelligence and he was in awe of her confidence. When Laurie was born it was Christie he confided his excitement and when Judith showed her true colors it was Christie who listened. No judging just pure friendship and an undaunted loyalty that Michael seldom found elsewhere.

Laurie and Angie were far too young to consider his shoulder-length hair and his affinity for solitude as bizarre. If he showed them a harmless garden snake or a large grasshopper they didn't cringe but reached out in curiosity. His only hope was that as they all aged their loyalty would not fade. Christie was starting to show signs of a great beauty and that frightened him. Not because beauty offended him but because beautiful people were not always kind to him.

His mother was happily unemployed and enjoyed her life living as a big name in a small town. Edith was not troubled by the fact that she spent more time on committees and auxiliaries than devoting time to truly understanding and bonding with her only son.

Furthermore, once his sister Judith learned her looks could be used to manipulate others she realized her power. Adults only saw the popular sweetheart that personified the image of the innocent girl next door. They failed to see the sneers and snarls, the looks of utter disdain whenever Michael and she were forced into the same room together. A kick here, a shove there, and if Michael complained it was _he _would was scolded for daring to speak ill and lie about the 'angel' that was Judith Myers. The only thing Michael had to equate his familial situation to was a bad episode of the _Brady Bunch,_ where instead of complaining, '_Marsha! Marsha! Marsha!_' he wanted to scream '_Bitch! Bitch! Bitch!_'. But he swallowed his anger and compartmentalized it. This time out of school with the girls was a blessed relief because he had some distance from his mother and elder sister.

With the mayor's ball that night and the Autumn Ball the next, the Myers household was in an upheaval as mother and daughter planned to strut around like two preening turkeys. Because Boo, as Michael called his younger sister, was too young to participate in their faced he was happy to look after her, yet resented his parents for not believing him mature enough to babysit or trick-or-treat without a chaperone. Though he delighted in pulling the wagon with Christie and hearing their sisters' excited shouts, he dreaded the coming hours.

"Michael? Michael, are you listening?"

His bright blue eyes snapped over to see Christie had slowed their pace and had been speaking. A blush crept into his pale cheeks as he apologized for zoning out.

"Day dreaming again?" Christie inquired gently.

"No," Michael said in a low voice, "just a waking nightmare. Chris, I really don't want to deal with Judith tonight. I mean she's gonna be a pain and probably _bitch _the entire time we're getting candy."

Christie nodded and pointed to the base of the tree and indicated they could relax and discuss the problem. He sighed and agreed as the two began to pull the wagon close by and gathered up the toddlers. Due to their closeness it was not uncommon for the girls to reach for each other's sibling and so Michael got an arm full of Angie, who reclined her head on his shoulder and kept one tiny thumb lodged in her bow-shaped mouth. Laurie and Christie walked and sat down and soon the youngest Myers was gurgling happily as she examined the newly fallen leaves.

"So what if she complains? I mean, me and Angie will be there. And your sister will probably have her hands full just with the babies, giving us time to go to the best houses."

"Yeah, I hope so." Michael replied lamely.

"She can't be mean to you if I'm right there and if we're outside with people around you know she won't start anything. Besides she can't do anything that might keep her from that dance tomorrow."

Again Michael agreed but did not make eye contact, a problem that the school counselor had picked up on. The word autistic had begun to emerge in conversations but his parents would not entertain the thought. A faze and nothing more they claimed but ultimately no one understood. Though Christie comprehended to some degree, she did not see how evil his sister was, how toxic her personality could be. Because the adults could not grasp that and more, he withdrew further inward. Halloween was an excellent time to express himself with no fear of ridicule or judgment. He could literally hide behind a mask and transform into someone else. A whole different side of him could come to the forefront and no one could say or do anything about it.

Just thinking about his costume caused his heart to speed up in welcome anticipation.

"What's Angie gonna be this year?" Michael asked, trying to not slip into one of his famous pauses.

"Dad chose a cute bumblebee outfit for her. It comes with a matching head band with two fuzzy antenna and the wings have this shiny netting. Since Dad calls her the 'honeybee' anyway it seemed right."

"That's cool. We bought Laurie a cat costume and it has a head band too, but it has cat ears instead. Mom didn't make our costumes like your mom always does so we had to go to that party store in Oak Lawn so that none of the other kids around here would have the same costumes."

Because she care so much for her troubled friend Christie decided not to tell Michael that his father was a snob, though the majority of the townspeople thought so.

"Look, Mikey, don't worry about it. Tonight we'll live it up and tomorrow while Judith is off playing _Miss America_ we can watch that marathon on _Cartoon Network_."

"We can watch that new zombie movie that's coming on_ HBO_ and it won't be censored like the regular cable channels."

"Didn't your mom put the parental block on the TVs?"

Michael rolled his eyes, a habit he learned from his mother.

"Mom has no idea that using the code '1-2-3-4' is stupid and won't keep a ten year old from watching_ Cinemax_ at two in the morning. I mean Boo could crack that code if she wanted."

Upon hearing her name a broad smile spread across his sister's face, exposing her tiny white teeth and a wet pink tongue. Angie's head had lulled onto Michael's shoulder and her eyelids were beginning to droop. Michael affectionately kissed the baby's soft hair and cuddled her close.

"And what was that thing you said you'd show me tonight? You know that _thing _that you said that you couldn't talk about on the phone."

A rare smile tugged at the edges of Michael's mouth; Christie wondered if any of the school counselors or child psychiatrists he had seen had ever encouraged him to smile, because it lit up his entire face and enhanced his angelic features.

"Well," Michael began with a mischievous tone to his voice. "I have to show you my clown costume. But it's not the costume I want you to see, it's the mask I made to go with it."

Christie scratched her head wondering how a mask could be so taboo that he spoke of it in an increasingly hushed whisper but also with great excitement.

"The mask is pretty cool. The one that came with the costume made me look like a baby, so I altered it and now it'll look like a real clown's. But what else I couldn't talk about was that I want to show you this _dead raccoon_ I found behind the house near the shed. It's all bloated and stiff and all these flies were swirling around it. It's cool and—"

"_Mikey!_ Do you ever get tired of _poking dead things with sticks_?"

"No, not really," Michael answered, his expression contemplative, not noticing her sarcasm. "I mean it's really amazing how one minute something is warm, breathing, and…well, _alive!_ Then the next the life goes out and what's left can't move. It's cold and stiff and it'll start to waste away as if nothing were there."

What Michael had neglected to confide was that it was _he _who killed the raccoon. Usually the dead animals he showed her had died before he came across them whenever he ventured into the woods behind Carpenter Elementary. Deceased birds, squirrels, and the occasional possum were on display should Christie concede to follow him. This time he could show her something he had dispatched though he could never reveal to his dearest and possibly only friend the exhilaration he had felt. The sense of overwhelming control that came over him was intoxicating; like that time his late grandfather had shared his aged whiskey with him a few years ago.

Michael had lied and told his father that their neighbor's cat had scratched him when he had tried to pet the animal, hence the scratches on his hands and arms that had thankfully not become infected. Truthfully, the woodland creature had fought bravely as it was wrestled and finally choked into submission by a surprisingly strong fifth grader.

Michael still remembered the snap of the bones in the animals' neck, how they gave under his grip. The body had not simply gone limp, but had twitched and convulsed until the vibrations traveled up Michael's thin arms. He wondered if he had absorbed some of the animal's life force, like in some weird sci-fi novel. A horrible smell substance that was too dark to be blood had bubbled out of the raccoon's gaping mouth and dripped onto his hands. He was still uncertain what it was, but as he hid the remains behind his father's work shed and washed his hands with a garden hose, Michael had no regrets.

"When did you find it?" Christie asked as she handed Laurie another pristine leaf for the rambunctious two year old to shred.

"Monday I think, but don't worry we'll go look at it after the babies are asleep."

"Look at what?"

Three sets of eyes turned to a voice that broke into their reverie. Laurie immediately recognized her mother and her first notion was to present the pieces of the leaf. Edith and Taylor had finished their coffee and had come to collect their children. Edith grimaced and gently swatted the crumpled leaf from her daughter's plump fingers and instead of sweetly telling her child to not play in the dead leaves, Edith turned angrily to her son and scolded him for not watching his sister properly.

"I swear Michael, I don't know what you are thinking sometimes. I mean what's going on in that head of yours!"

"But Mrs. Myers," Christie interjected. "I gave her the leaf, not Michael—"

"And he should have known to not bring her near the leaves where Laurie could get into those filthy things. Now I'll have to give her a bath. Not like I don't already have a million other things I need to do today before the party!"

Christie appeared confused and Taylor felt awkward as Edith swept the giggling toddler up in her arms, albeit with some reluctance. Michael hung his head without attempting to defend himself, only mumbled his apologies. What use was there in trying to make his mother see reason?

"Well we need to get going and run some last minute errands ourselves. But we'll be at your place at about seven. Come on Christie and say goodbye. We'll be all dressed up the next time you see Michael." Taylor replied cheerfully, hoping to not prolong the uncomfortable moment.

Rising to brush herself off Christie decided to take her mother's lead and hung back while Michael relinquished a slumbering Angie and watched as her mother offered the misunderstood boy an encouraging smile. Though she thanked him for his caring for the baby, Michael had fallen into silence, his eyes on his shoes and his limp blond hair shielding the majority of his face so his only discernible response was a slight nod to indicate he had heard her.

"I'll see ya tonight and you can show me then." Christie said, trying to sound enthusiastic.

"See what?" Edith demanded, narrowing her eyes at her crestfallen son.

"His mask! He said he made a clown mask for his clown costume. I can't wait to see it when we go get candy."

"Goodness, Michael!" Edith growled dramatically. "Why couldn't you just use the one that I _bought_ you? It's far better than anything homemade. I swear you'll be the death of me!"

Michael's eyes were oddly vacant as he raised his head just enough to make the briefest of contact with her gaze. "Not you, Mom," he whispered, his voice low and horse so that the sound came out in a hiss. "_Never you_,"

Having heard and seen enough and using her sleeping child as an excuse, Taylor ushered Christie toward her Nissan. As they walked it was obvious both were ill-at-ease with what they had witnessed.

"Poor kid! I really don't know how he'll get by if she keeps on like that. I hope you don't think I act like that."

"No, Mom!" Christie exclaimed as they approached the silver four-door vehicle parallel parked near the café. "I don't think you could ever be like Mrs. Myers."

"Well I sure don't ever want to see my kids miserable. I mean it can't be healthy."

Christie glanced over her shoulder and saw Edith holding Laurie on his hip and shoving her stoic, stern-faced son to their car. The smile that had graced his angelic countenance had vanished, his eyes unreadable; more and more he was withdrawing inward and even though she was just a kid, she knew terms could become steadily worse before they got better.

"Yeah, Mom, it's real unhealthy."

Minutes later Taylor had slipped behind the wheel and her girls were safely strapped in on the back seat. She was prepared to put that disturbing episode out of her mind and focus on the upcoming event. Meanwhile Christie's attention was on Angie.

The toddler's silken tresses had become mussed as she lay comfortably in her light pink car seat. Her round rosy cheeks invited a pinch and her usually long eye lashes fanned out adorably; she truly loved her sister. When her mother had declared she was adding to their family, the other children had warned her of how awful it would be that her parents would devote all their time to the baby and none to her. Admittedly she worried that she would have no peace with a screaming robot whose only functions were to eat, sleep, and defecate. But from the first moment she laid eyes on Angie's sparkling brown eyes, she had felt an overwhelming wave of love and a sense of protectiveness. The awful treatment that the Myers family inflicted upon Michael was ridiculous, and she could never fathom despising Angie the way Judith despised her brother. Watching the subtle rise and fall of the baby's chest she again felt that need to watch over this innocent child. Had Judith ever felt that before?

From what Christie had seen Judith had only shown great indifference to Laurie, possibly that was just as detrimental. Nonetheless she could not understand why people treat each other so poorly. Her mother rarely spoke of her father, whom Christie had only seen a few times since they moved to Haddonfield. Only when her mother had grown tired of being victimized did she dare make a change.

Christie closed her eyes, surprised to find the prickle of tears and a stinging in her nose. Rarely one to cry, it actually startled her to feel twin drops of moisture drip down her cheeks. A sudden notion occurred to her, filling her with a horror that foreshadowed something but she was unsure of what. Her mother was searching through her purse for something and thankfully did not notice the panicking child behind her. Christie suppressed a whimper and scrubbed her hands over her face to prevent a full sobbing fit. A practical child who had participated in a few child psychiatrist visits to deal with a sudden change environment when she was five, she recalled how to take calming breaths. Once she felt less flustered she tried to figure out what had upset her. Perhaps the scene with Michael and his mother had affected her more than expected.

But she felt that she was about to see something more disturbing. Ken, her stepfather, used to refer to the 'calm before the storm'. Before Christie had never completely understood what he meant but now she was feeling it. Something terrible was going to happen but she couldn't guess what. She could imagine what could happen in Haddonfield to distress her so; the worst crimes were the juvenile senior pranks that occurred at the end of each school year. On Halloween the police patrolled more for tradition and not out of necessity. Teenagers were held to their curfews and usually all the houses were dark by eleven-thirty.

The mayor's party was set to conclude at one o'clock and many would chose to reserve the rooms at the hotel and return home after a nice complimentary continental breakfast. Even Sheriff Brackett and his wife, the owner of the local bakery, would be in attendance. In places like Chicago and Gary, Indiana she doubted the head of police could take an evening off to dance and mingle, especially when children are roaming the streets and approaching random people for candy. So if everyone else was at ease, why was she concerned?

Just as she was certain no more tears would escape, in the distance but obviously rapidly approach was a loud shriek and wail. An ambulance was speeding along but the streets were not blocked by many cars. Taylor murmured that such noise was unnecessary, that they were 'probably heading to the diner for lunch'.

The sound grew louder and louder and soon a blur of red and blue lights zoomed pass their car. The police car had long since departed so Christie could not tell if this was a real emergency, nor could she see if anyone was in the back cabin of the large screaming vehicle due to its incredible speed. A great many elderly residents lived in Haddonfield and the town's hospital boasted an excellent reputation so people from surrounding areas preferred to travel to their facility. Though Christie had no reason to perceive the ambulance as an ominous sign, she swallowed against her apprehension.

"_Chrissss!_"

Alerted by the sound of her name Christie turned to see her sister, awakened and drowsy reaching out to her.

"It's okay, Angie," Christie soothed, curling her hand around the baby's smaller one, "it's over now, it's over."


	2. Chapter 2

A screeching wail, a terrible sound that tears through any peace one could hope to have while strapped to a gurney. The red and blue lights circled and flashed around the vehicle as it round into the night. The voices around me were unfocused and garbled so I couldn't make out all the medical jargon being said. However I could steal bits and pieces of the conversations and yet I remained mute, my eyes trained on the twin doors and the glass windows in front of me.

"She's lucky to be _alive_…"

"…I mean _so _many people have died…"

"You can expect this in a city but in a sleepy town like this…?"

"Surprisingly the only thing off about her vitals is low blood pressure…"

The road that led to the highway and the Chicago area hospital that awaited me was not the smoothest and someone apologized for the uncomfortable ride. My eyes broke from the doors and rolled towards my left and found the source of the voice.

Dark alert eyes, friendly slanted eyes met mine and I absorbed this new personage in continued silence. Tall and slender in build with a croaked smile and limp black hair brushed away from his angular face, he was the youngest paramedic I had encountered that evening.

"Miss Ramsey, we are going to see you get the best care and if you need anything or have questions you need only to ask."

Quietly I regarded him and decided that I would need to try and lessen the monotony of my time, perhaps talking would help. Oprah and Dr. Phil always stressed talking as a way to relieve stress and coup with hard circumstances. But how could I convey to a stranger what I had experienced? I had been a child ready to celebrate a fun evening with my friends just days ago. Life had been safe and predictable, easy, and content for us all; now my peers—or the majority thereof were cooling in the morgue. Was the man seated in the ambulance at my side capable of understanding what that could mean? As friendly as he appeared, did he see me as a child lost, or a woman newly made, fashioned and formed by certain violent and loving events?

This man probably had been briefed on the murderous situation that had gripped Haddonfield, Illinois and maybe pitied me. If that were so, I preferred the abysmal silence.

I realized that I was staring at him and quickly averted my eyes.

"Sorry…could you tell me your name." I asked hoarsely.

A brilliant smile widened across his face and he boldly seized my chilled hand in his heated one. "My name is David Kwan," he began and leant forward so I had no choice but to acknowledge his comfort, "I'm here to help anyway that I can. But you look exhausted so if you want to nap you may. If you do I'll be here when you wake up, Miss Ramsey."

"Please, call me Angie, and no I don't want to sleep. I'm tired," I admitted slowly, "but I don't think I'll ever be able to close my eyes again."

David's chiseled face fell into an expression of deep concern and he again tried to reiterate that no further harm could befall me. For him, Michael Myers had been the boogieman who had spread his wrath on the suspecting residents of Haddonfield. Angelina Ramsey had been targeted, kidnapped, beaten and raped and of course frightened to close my eyes because the memories might resurface and plague me in my sleep.

Something about this man's demeanor compelled me to speak about the truth, to brief him about the real happenings that brought me to be strapped down. I wanted to explain that I feared that should I dare to sleep and eventually wake up, the reality of Michael's death would consume me again. Could I really hope to regain my previous standard of living when he and the rest of America would soon learn my name in the worst way?

No doubt the media would soon descend on Haddonfield like a swarm of cicadas, devouring every obscure and irrelevant detail, regurgitating sensationalist gossip. If I fell asleep would I really find this gentleman at my side or Nancy Grace?

"Where are my parents? Are they still at the cemetery?"

Thankful for a change in conversation, David explained that my family was being escorted by one of the deputies and meet me at the hospital. Apparently my sister had taken the responsibility to return to our home to collect clothes and toiletries, but also with a deputy; even though Michael was tucked inside a body bad, his fearful influence still existed.

"What happens to me when I arrive at the hospital? Couldn't you just give me some first-aid and just take me home? I mean I know Haddonfield Memorial is probably a crime scene now, but to go all the way to Chicago…"

"Unfortunately it's not just first-aid you require. A police investigation is handling things and your parents are prepared to sign certain documents—"

"Wait, certain documents? What are you talking about?" I asked, suddenly so agitated that David had to press me to the gurney with both hands on my shoulders.

The other paramedics had been talking amongst themselves and communicating with the hospital personnel. Now they were watching this animated and awkward exchange. David's frown deepened and he sighed heavily even as I stared daggers into him. The phrase 'don't kill the messenger' definitely applied in this instance but I couldn't help my abrupt anger.

"Once we get to Sacred Heart you can talk with your parents and the doctors and they will review with the procedure of performing a rape kit."

For a moment I couldn't hear the siren, the beeping of the machines that crowded the interior cabin of the ambulance. Fear crept into David's eyes and I could feel an abhorrent sensation of acidic bile rising up in my throat, read to choke me and caused tears to sting my eyes. Fortunately I swallowed against it and tried to gather my scattered thoughts.

"_R-rape…kit?_" I whimpered aloud in a small and unfamiliar voice.

"Yeah, it'll help the police gather evidence so we know what that monster did. After that you'll receive all the care in the world to help you recover from your trauma."

Of course I heard David but his words still failed to pierce the dense fog that was enveloping my brain and strangling my heart. My chest seemed compressed and my lungs devoid of air. A sweat broke out across my face and my neck and surprisingly, instead of a cloth or something one would expect in an ambulance, David reached into his pocket and retrieved a crisp, white handkerchief. Somehow I temporarily forgot my reverie and watched him shake the fabric loose from its fold and handed it to me. Having noticed that I was taken aback by the gesture, he muttered that his grandfather always insisted on his carrying one. A pulse, a quivering trailed through my hands as I accepted the cloth and pursed my lips until I was sure I could voice my thanks. When I did he waved it away, insisting that it was a pleasure to be of assistance any way possible.

"Do I have to it? Take the rape kit, I mean? How the _hell_ do you even do a rape kit in the first place?"

David did not immediately answer but looked to his colleagues, but none of them intervened. Perhaps the entire situation made them uncomfortable, maybe they were accustomed to emergencies and tragedies of a different sort and therefore hadn't the words to prepare me. So they were happy and relieved to relinquish the lead and leave the unpleasant duties to a man fresh from training.

He ran his hand through his midnight dark hair and took a moment to breathe before launching into the details.

Swabs for any foreign substance and DNA, a record of any sexually inflicted injuries, and pictures of those injuries. All of that will be necessary for the professionals to help me. The culprit who did the 'rape' was thankfully dead and so there would be no search, and once the doctors and the police concluded their investigation and pieced together their version of events, I'd be handed over for psychiatric assistance.

I desperately wanted to tell him that I didn't need any of the help the adults were forcing upon me. If the ambulance hadn't already hit the highway we could have turned back and let me return to the relative quiet of my bedroom. Every fiber of my being wanted to scream out in misery that didn't need to rape kit.

_How can I need a rape kit when I wasn't fucking raped? Michael Myers may have broken out of Smith Grove Sanitarium, killed mercilessly, left my hometown in shambles and singlehandedly dismantled the senior class of Haddonfield High—but he was no rapist._

_ Michael had kidnapped me, yes, but his intentions were to protect me and his sister, Laurie. We were all he had left in this world and when I should have feared him most, I gave into my love for him._

_ What we shared was not Stockholm syndrome, nor was it puppy love. I could live a thousand years, meet and marry a hundred times over and still love only one knife-wielding mute murderer. If I closed my eyes I would not be further traumatized, I would see a pair of ice blue orbs and never want to wake again._

Shaking my head, I forced away those thoughts and realized that all eyes were on me. The men and women who tended to my care would estimate my lapses into silence to equate something other than bittersweet introspection. Just as I had tried to compel Michael to communicate with me, they would do also and record every blink and sigh.

However my attention was drawn to David who had never withdrawn his hand. The look of sympathy he provided should have angered me but I was thankful for his presence. He did not coddle me completely and offered to hear me without judgment, something I doubted I would have in the coming days. Hopefully he would see me not as a victim but a survivor; one that could rise above what everyone assumed had brought me down.

"Listen, Miss…I-I mean _Angie_," David quickly amended with a blush, "I'm new to the field and after everything is straightened out I'll be working at Haddonfield Memorial."

"Oh, really?" I asked, trying to sound just as colloquial.

"Yeah and my uncle in the hospital chaplain so if you think you need to talk to someone, you could always call on me, I-I mean _him_…my uncle that is."

His blush spread and I still could not bring myself to be angry for his ill-timed offer. In his mind I was a frightened and distressed teenage girl, instead of the young woman who felt more like a spouse newly windowed. If Michael had been a soldier killed in action in Afghanistan he would have tried to voice his offer better, or not at all. I was no victim, no battered child. Yet the sincerity that laced his voice led me to nod slowly before collapsing on the gurney's hard padded surface, suddenly exhausted.

"I think I will try to sleep a little, but of course you knew I would need to eventually."

David's sheepish smile was not lost on me and when he refused to take back his handkerchief, preferring I hold onto it. Nodding my continued thanks, I settled into the cushion of the gurney and tried to relax.

"Remember I'll be here when it's time to head into the hospital. Just let me know what I can do if you need anything."

Wordlessly I acknowledged his kindness and sighed heavily as the invisible weights on my eyelids pulled them down. Unfortunately the one thing I desired most was for the hand clutching mine to revert from gentle and warm to cold and scarred. What would I give to not be holding this ivory handkerchief but the soiled torn fabric of a mechanic's uniform? Instead of the smiling face of these fresh new paramedics, David Kwan, I ached to behold a ghostly white mask, devoid of emotion and blues that could change to onyx black within seconds. David's voice held a sweet note that could attract any woman and I bemoaned the fact that I yearned for the silent communication I had shared with Michael.

And so my thoughts continued in that lamenting vein until the darkness of a dreamless slumber overwhelmed me. The blaring of the sirens were drowned out, my locomotive surroundings vanishing and I welcomed this oblivion Michael had spent fifteen years sinking into this same detached catatonic state, and so when able to I vowed to do the same. Let my body be present but please allow my heart and mind retreat. Where would they go? I would send them to that dilapidated house left to weather its bloody history and hopefully find the peace that was snatched from me.


End file.
